Each evening he walked back to the concealed corries and practised the moves he had seen. But he did not practise with sticks. He had his own sword It began to feel like part of himself. His good arm, he was pleased to note, was becoming as strong as his legs. And now, when he made his rare trips back to the township and his home, he would be able to listen to the tales and imagine himself as hero.
'I'll show them I'm as good as them,' he yelled to the darkening mountain. The steer beside him bellowed.